


Yoga

by stilesstilerstyle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, John hates being ignored, M/M, Table Sex, Yoga, Yoga pants, and Sherlock hates being distracted, bottomjohn, toplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesstilerstyle/pseuds/stilesstilerstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part of the one word bottomjohn prompt series</p><p>John in yogapants is very distracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yoga

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Yoga|瑜伽](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7782376) by [Alphiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphiney/pseuds/Alphiney)



John arched his back as good as he could, with his hands on the floor, his arse was nicely presented. He slightly wiggled it in the direction of Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair. He’d been thinking and barely talking for the past four days.

Sitting in his lap had only made him grumble, kissing his neck had made him growl, and going for his flies made him snap: “John, for GOD’S SAKE! Stop it, I have more important things to think about.” With that he shoved John away, which John responded to with his own sulk. Just that he wasn’t nearly as efficient.

So he decided it was time to make Sherlock come to him. He’d gone out and bought himself the tightest and most flattering yogapants. They made his bum look irresistible, he found.  
He planted himself in the living room, ignoring Sherlock completely. And then he’d started doing yoga. If he hadn’t had an alternative motive, he would have actually liked doing it for his body and health.

But soon enough he could spot Sherlock shifting in his seat, a smug smile coming to his face. He kept moving as gracefully as he could, showing off his arse and his muscles.

When he heard Sherlock clear his throat, he knew he had him hooked. Right then he clenched his buttocks tightly, sure that Sherlock was watching.

"John… What - what are you doing?" His voice sounded strained. John grinned to himself and spoke with his huskiest voice: "Yoga."

"Yes." Sherlock cleared his throat again and John heard him shift in his chair. "Obviously. But why are you doing it here?" Irritation was now audible too.

"Because it’s my flat too, and I can do my yoga, wherever and whenever I want to."  
He made it sound as if he had been doing yoga all his life.

"It’s distracting. Stop it." He sounded positively angry/hungry now.

John closed his eyes, getting ready for the explosion. “No.”

For a moment it was completely quiet, he was still in the position with his head low, and his arse high.

A smile bloomed on his face when he felt Sherlock’s heat behind him, and then two hands roughly grabbing his hips.  
When Sherlock pushed his evident erection into the cleft of John’s arse, he bowed low over John, and growled: “You are a distraction. A distraction that must be tended to.”

With a harsh push of his hips, he made it clear what he wanted. “Fucking finally”, John murmured.  
He slowly pushed back his own pelvis, wriggling it delightfully as he slowly came to a full stand.

He turned around to face Sherlock, and gave their groins a nice slide against each other. He grinned up at Sherlock, whose pupils had widened enough to look like they were devouring the irises. John felt his cock twitch at that sight. He pulled Sherlock into a hot kiss, soft slides of tongues and lips and sharp nips of teeth. Sherlock herded him towards the kitchen, and John gave a surprised shout, when he felt his feet leave the floor. The table was almost empty (for a change) and John soon found himself, lying with his back on the hard surface looking up at Sherlock. He grinned. “I knew I’d get you here somehow…”

Sherlock smirked back, his hands roaming over John’s yogapant-clad thighs, hot and searching.

"You chose well, John. Those were excellent trousers you bought. I like them so much, I don’t want to take them off all the way."

He lifted John’s legs to rest on his shoulders, looking at him. John squirmed a bit, this position squeezing his erection nicely, but also a bit torturously. Sherlock reached forward to push John’s shirt up, so that his chest was visible.

"Sherlock…" John was losing his patience. He needed Sherlock inside him, now.

"Shhhh John. Where’s the lube? I know you got it somewhere close because you wouldn’t want to have to interrupt this." His one hand slid down John’s naked abdomen, then palming his caged erection.

John moaned helplessly, and flailed his right hand aimlessly at Sherlock. “Your right pocket. I - oh dear god - put it there when you were on the sofa.”

Sherlock smirked down at him, and then his smile grew hungry again as he took the tube out of his pocket.  
He put it down beside John’s hip and then started to tug at John’s yogapants. John lifted his hips slightly, to help, and the trousers slipped over the curve of his arse. He was about to reach down and pull them over his straining and throbbing erection, when Sherlock stopped him, grabbing his wrists. “Don’t. You weren’t even wearing underwear, needy little cockslut.” He put John’s hands right over the edge of the table and motioned for him to grip tightly.

John did, his chest heaving in deep breaths. With half-lidded eyes he watched how Sherlock coated his fingers generously in lube. From his point of view it still looked as if he was wearing his yogapants all the way, but he knew that his arse was exposed, when a finger slipped between his cheeks, circling the rim and then slowly pushing in. He nearly let go of the table, his fingers trembling with suppressed arousal.

After the second and the third finger had been worked inside of him, and Sherlock still didn’t show any sign of getting down to fucking him, John snapped at him: “Get at it you git! Fuck, I need it!”

Sherlock smiled darkly and slowly pulled out his fingers to slick up his cock.  
But before he pushed in, he stopped to look at John and lift his eyebrows. “What do we say when we would like something, John?”

John’s knuckles were white with the hard grip he had on the wood beneath him. “Please! Fucking please Sherlock! Please fuck me!”

And finally, there was the unrelenting push of Sherlock’s cock at his hole, slowly and steadily pushing in, inch after inch.

John arched his back, pushing towards Sherlock, panting and moaning for more. Sherlock happily obliged, pushing faster and rougher, his hands tightly gripping John’s calves. And there it was, John gasped when he felt Sherlock’s cock brush against his prostate. The pleasure rippled and tingled up through John’s spine and into his toes, curling them on both sides of Sherlock’s head. He moaned happily, his eyes rolling back into his head.  
Sherlock started building a steady pace and soon John couldn’t even take his hands off the table if he wanted to. It felt like this was the first time in months, although it had actually just been a week.

John’s cock was still bound by the tight pants stretching across the back of his upper thighs. It provided some friction, but not nearly enough. All it took was for Sherlock to reach around John’s legs and brush against the length of it four times and John came with a heart wrenching intensity, even his breath was taken away, and he couldn’t shout. His mouth was formed in a silent, slight ‘O’ and he sucked in breath, his head thunking back against the wood.

Not long after, Sherlock followed, pushing fast and rough into John’s clenching heat, milking his orgasm from him. He groaned and growled as his hot come filled John, giving him later a slippery slope to slide out of John. Come dripped out of his hole, running down his cheeks.

Finally his fingers loosened their hold on the edge of the table. He was exhausted and happy beyond measure, a loopy smile on his lips as Sherlock lowered his legs to dangle over the edge. He could still feel the come run out of him, when Sherlock softly stroked John’s softening cock through the thin layer of the now-sticky yogapants.

"Too bad they’re soiled now. Make sure to wash them so we can repeat this." With those words he walked away, tucking himself back into his pyjama-bottoms to sit in his chair and think once more.

John couldn’t stand right away, he lay there for a few more minutes, to bathe in the afterglow of wonderful, fantastic sex.

Who would have thought yogapants could be so useful?


End file.
